


remnants of the dead

by humanveil



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mental Instability, Non-Linear Narrative, Pre-Series, Psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: “If I buried someone in my own backyard, I’d think about it all the time.”Every man has a breaking point. Alex has many.





	remnants of the dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greyflesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyflesh/gifts).



> Dedicated to Jordan, who is no longer with us, but who I promised this fic to. She helped me plan it, and I think she’d be happy with the end result. 
> 
> The violence isn’t actually very explicit, but I thought better safe than sorry. Enjoy.

The backyard is normal, inconspicuous. Expected for a family like theirs. The grass is green, the fence white, the bush thick and healthy where it runs along the wall. A shovel is out, resting near the bird bath he’s just put in, an almost empty bag of lye cast off to the side.

Alex sits, stares. He’s on one end of the yard, as far away from the bird bath and what’s under it as he can possibly get. A newspaper is hung over his arm, the contents barely looked at. He’d given up on reading the second Cameron had followed him outside, knows what will be there, anyway.

Oscar Shales. A trail gone cold.

 

_His heart beats, loud in his own ears. His body jittery with adrenaline, the rush of blood. Alex heaves, gasps, gulps down air. His breath is heavy, the rise and fall of his chest erratic._

_Shales is gone, out of sight. Escaped from their grasp once again. His body somewhere hidden in the bush around them, the trail cooling with every passing second._

_It feels like they’re running out of time._

 

Cameron is running. His little legs working faster every day. Growing, learning. Alex hasn’t been around much lately, but he notices it now. Can see it as Cameron runs the span of the backyard, one end to the other, a scuffed soccer ball just _that_ far in front of him.

He catches up to it, kicks it again. It flies through the air, falls to the ground with a thud, rolls along the grass. It only stills when it hits the bird bath, the collision an abrupt end.

Cameron chases it, crouches to pick it up. He sways slightly, his little hand curling around the basin to steady himself.

Alex swallows.

 

_The nightmares, the hallucinations. They start slow, creep up on him. Little by little; one by one. Bearable, right up until they aren’t. Until he’s consumed by it, by episodes of this: bodies, blood. They paint his dreams, the hours he spends awake. Flashes, flickers, fabricated images. They stick around in the corner of his eye. Taunting, blaming. They eat at him, erode him back to desperation, frustration. Make him **mad.**_

_It’s only a matter of time before he snaps._

 

Cameron is up and away in seconds, but the reaction has already started: elevated heartrate, quickened breath, the first flicker of adrenaline. Alex curls a hand around his knee, fingers clutching to the fabric of his trousers. His stomach churns.

He can feel himself starting to lose it.

 

_He doesn’t sleep. Can’t. Every hour, every thought. It’s consumed by Shales, by what he’s doing, what he’s done. The bodies he’s left, the notes—it’s like a game. A puzzle. Something he’s leaving for Alex to figure out, only Alex can’t. He tries to, tries his hardest, and yet he fails every time, lets him k—_

_A scrape, loud and painful. Alex’s hand against the wall, his nails scratching over photographs. He tears away the image of a dead child, a mutilated body. Male, seven. Not much bigger than Cameron. His skin is burned, clawed. His thighs bloody._

_Alex can’t handle the sight, can’t have it stare back at him any longer. He curls his fist, crunches the paper within his grasp. It crinkles, tears. Folds inside his palm. He moulds it into a ball, let’s it drop to the bin beside his desk._

_The guilt. It’s going to kill him._

 

Cameron is running again, leaping over the shovel’s handle to get to the ball; still not bored of whatever game he’s crafted for himself. Alex watches. Can’t seem to turn away, tune it out.

The shovel, the lye. They need to be put away, he thinks. Need to be hidden somewhere.

 

_One mistake. One mistake no one else thought was important enough to pursue, not worthwhile, and here Alex is. Waiting, the taste of victory phantom on his tongue._

_Shales turns the corner, and Alex’s hand closes around his throat. The cuffs come not long after._

Pam is there, watching from inside the kitchen. Alex can only just see her, standing beside the sink, a mug of tea held in hand. There’s smile on her face as her gaze trails Cameron, happy to see him happy. Alex knows it’ll morph to concern when she looks his way.

It always does, these days.

_“You got me, Alex.”_

_The words are softly spoken, the statement a taunt. Alex flicks his gaze up, looks at Shales sat in the backseat. His hands are cuffed, legs, too, and yet he doesn’t seem phased. Doesn’t seem worried._

_He leans forward, a hint of hot breath ghosting against the back of Alex’s neck when he speaks, the words stirring every buried worry. Alex’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, his grip firm. His knuckles go white, the squeak of leather audible while on the empty road._

_“But can you keep me?”_

 

“Dad, look!”

Alex jerks his head, blinks. Once, twice, three times. He looks to Cameron, finds him back near the bird bath, the ball balanced on his finger. He’s smiling, waiting for something—praise, admiration. But Alex can only see what’s behind him: Shales, bloodied and beaming, a child’s body at his feet.

His intake of breath is sharp, harsh. Bordering on panicked. His body shudders.

“Dad?”

 

_“Are you a family man, Alex?”_

_Alex does not respond. His gaze is focused on the road in front of him, the darkening horizon. They’re alone for miles; no one behind or in front, nothing but fields on either side of the road. He swallows, mouth dry. Tries to ignore the words spoken next._

_“I bet you are,” Shales says. There’s an edge to his voice; mocking, threatening. It crawls across Alex’s skin. “I bet you’re all about the wife and kid.”_

_His hand squeezes. He tries to level his breathing, but it’s of little use. The anger, the pent up frustration. It rises to the forefront, makes his blood boil._

_“Tell you what,” Shales continues. “When I get away, I’ll pay them a little visit.”_

_It’s said almost like a joke, as if this is amusing to him: watching Alex squirm. He’s been trying for hours, now, to get a reaction. Pushing his limits, taunting Alex with accounts of all his murders, assaults. The bodies he’s left behind, the ones Alex hasn’t even found. It’s only a matter of time. Only so much more before Alex will snap._

_“Your wife a screamer, Mahone?”_

 

Alex blinks again, rapidly, like it’ll clear what he sees. It doesn’t, never does. The vision remains, Shales’ eyes locked with his, his mouth pulled into a smirk as Alex sits there, staring. The child at his feet looks an awful lot like Cameron: same size, same features. It could just as easily be him, Alex thinks. His little boy.

He drags a hand across his face, over his eyes, mouth. Distantly, Alex knows it’s not real, that it’s a trick, a hallucination, but that fact doesn’t register, not in the moment. There’s only muddled panic, an overwhelming desire to get out, away. To get his son somewhere safe.

“Dad?”

Cameron’s voice is concerned, quiet as he turns to look behind him. He searches for whatever has his father’s attention, but finds nothing’s there. Just the bird bath, the flowerbed.

 

_Alex presses against the break, pulls the car to the side. It’s abrupt, rapid. Careless. Wheels skid against the road, the smell of burning rubber pungent when Alex steps out of the car. He pulls the backdoor open, gun in hand, and leans to unlock the chains restraining Shales’ feet. The ones around his wrists stay on._

_“Out,” Alex says, snaps. It’s a command, an order, his tone harsh and hard. No room for arguments. “Now.”_

_Shales looks at him, and the sight of surprise, the slight flicker of fear—it’s satisfying to Alex. He waves his gun, hurries him up, steps back so Shales has room._

_The first hit of his hand against Shales’ face is met with a loud crack, a painful grunt. The second is met with blood, the substance warm as it paints Alex’s knuckles, runs across his fingers, down his palm. The sight of it, the deep crimson, the dark red. It’s satisfying, calming. Makes Alex itch to do it again._

_The third hit is met with a gargle, with Shales dropping to his knees: head bent forward, blood dripping from his nose, down his mouth, off his chin. It trickles to the ground, creates a tiny pool on the gravel._

_The fourth touch is of a gun, is a barrel against a neck._

 

His pen is tucked in his pocket, hidden from sight. Alex reaches for it, fingers clawing across his chest until it’s in his hand, until he can twist it open and get what’s inside. The pills—he only takes one. Puts it in his mouth and swallows it dry.

It’s easy to do. He’s gotten used to it, now.

 

_“Mahone—Alex. Don’t, plea—”_

_The change in demeanour is unexpected but satisfying, the switch between haughty and scared, smug and terrified a fulfilling transition. Shales pleads for his life, the words falling at a rapid rate, the sound an unintelligible mess of begging. Alex almost laughs. Can feel the bitter, bitter sensation press at his teeth. There is no going back, not now. Not after everything._

_He stands behind Shales. Cocks the gun._

_Execution style._

 

“Get away from there, Cam,” Alex calls, his voice rough. Hoarse.

He speaks only once the midazolam settles in his system, once it quiets his mind, makes it easier to breathe. Cameron looks at him, confused, but does as he’s told. He runs, throws the ball Alex’s way and chases it.

Through the window, Alex catches sight of Pam’s expression: sad, concerned, anxious. She meets his gaze for a second but looks away a moment later, like she can’t bear the sight.

Alex stifles an unsteady sigh.

 

_Declaring Shales’ death is not an option. Forensics, they’ll paint the picture. Will spell out what Alex had done for the judge and jury. Will leave no room for misinterpretation. No, his only option is to cover it, hide it, pretend it never happened._

_The dead weight is heavy, but he gets it in the trunk eventually. He grunts and groans, uses whatever he’d found in the back to cover the body. Tarp, a spare bag. Anything to stop the remnants of blood and brain matter from staining his car the same way they stain his hands, shirt, shoes._

_The bloodied road is another issue._

 

“I need you to leave.”

His voice is calm, at first. Controlled. Pam turns to him, faint surprise colouring her features. She hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t expected _this_. The crazed look in his eye, the erratic breathing, the dangerous energy.

“What?”

“Leave,” Alex says again. “Out—I need. I need you to get out.”

It’s more erratic, now. Desperate. His control slipping by the second. He speaks quickly, loudly. Almost screaming. Pam steps back, watches, horrified, as he says it again. Again, and again, and again. He doesn’t tell her why, doesn’t give an explanation, just tells her to leave, _hurry, now, go._

“Alex,” Pam is saying, pleading. Her hand is raised, like she wants to reach out, calm him down, but Alex won’t let her. Won’t allow her to get closer than she already is. “Alex—don’t, please ju—”

“No.” No, he won’t calm down, won’t talk about it, just— _“Get out.”_

It’s something he needs to do; a desperate attempt to save them from himself, from the mess Alex has made in his life. He wishes they could see that.

 

_His muscles ache, his hands too. His nostrils burn with the stench of blood, sweat, death, dirt. Alex is almost done, his act almost buried. He trickles the dirt over the hole, blocks out Shales’ dead gaze._

_What he’s doing—it’s horrific, he knows. Inhumane._

_But also: necessary._


End file.
